


The Regular Magic of Arthur Pendragon.

by Whizbang



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Merlin AU, Merthur - Freeform, heroics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:13:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whizbang/pseuds/Whizbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long and short story told in many orders of how Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Emrys found a way back to each other in the end.</p><p>(Setting: modern day America where leaders are elected and great kings work as bartenders.)</p><p>Consists of: accidents, secrets, doctors that most certainly do not make people better, bars, fights, secret small-scale hero-work, and the truest, bravest acts of real love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fracture

_It was a tuesday._

\---------

(the water was freezing beneath his leather shoes.)

(the air was ice and white, and his lips shook...)

(like frozen instruments.)

(They tapped, and forced the air to squirm around in metronomes.)

\---------  
 **Q:** _What are you doing here?_

 

The cold, colorless coat of a lanky and lifeless man washed up on the corridor. It was spit out in Arthur’s direction, at least it seemed like it was, out of Merlin's room. Arthur was hoping for good news. It rejected, ejected, affected him; it inspected Arthur Pendragon's bloody lip and blond hair that stuck to his face, like salted wet sweaters washed in cold water. Arthur was ready for good news to leap out like a gift in a toy box, this man was obviously wound up, so where was his prize? Where was Arthur's good news? Yet the man would give no such thing to him. Only words.  
               “Sir, you need to go home.” He let out the phrase like he had been rehearsing it in a mirror.  
                           “I’m not going anywhere.”  
The man raised his brow and Arthur became stone.  
                  “Are you a member of his family?”  
Arthur was frustrated.  
                              “No, I am not.”  
The man dared to challenge the nobel Arthur Pendragon again a second time. This gift box was filled with mumbling hot air, air that buzzed in his ear like a badgering bee.

                       “Are you his spouse?”  
Arthur was twice as frustrated as he was from the arrogance of the first question.

  
A:        He would not give an answer. If Arthur did, he would have let this nuisance have power over him. He wouldn’t define his relationship with Merlin as friendship.  
                He just wanted to stay.

 

                                                      **On a sidenote**  
                                                  **Q: Why is it that mankind**  
 **continues to pursue challenging**  
 **the most unconsidered, belittled**  
 **circumstances instead of real issues?**  
                                       **A:** _In Doctor Fredman’s case, a bad cup of coffee_  
 _and a fresh brown stain on some particularly troubling_  
 _divorce papers._

                   The man looked down at his black leather shoes and the brown splotch in the material covering his thigh. He rubbed his cheeks and combed back his hair, then cleared his throat.  
                   It was then that Arthur realized he intimidated the man.  
He could almost snicker.  
                   “Go home, sir.” The man in the coat repeated, forgetting morality.  
                             Forgetting decency, humanity...  
                   Forgetting to pity the blond child waiting for his gift to arrive.  
                             “I’m staying.”  
Something about that statement either struck a nerve, or made the man feel threatened. Arthur wasn’t completely sure, but as long as he could stay by Merlin’s side, he didn’t care. He didn’t care about this empty coat of a disappointment in his way. He didn't care at all.  
                   “Go home or I’ll have to call security. The patient is in critical condition. If you don’t mind me saying, I don’t have time to be dealing with the likes of you, sir.” The man looked back at the white door, clearly not realizing the impact the words, "in critical condition" could have on a person. Not realizing what he had just said had effectively cemented Arthur's feet to the linoleum under them, he thought at whiteness of the door; it’s plastic paint coated the metal, and Arthur looked too. He imagined how the clear box with a clipboard inside would jiggle when it opened. He imagined Merlin stepping out.  
Merlin’s infectious smile.  
Merlin’s _there_ -ness.  
            He almost lost the willpower to stay in the hallway.  
                   “...” Arthur wasn’t listening anymore.  
                   (Well, not listening a little more all together than he wasn’t listening when he was.)  
            “Sir?” The man waited. He waited for Arthur to get up from the wooden bench. Arthur didn’t acknowledge the man anymore. He was a waste of time. The gift waited in a white package labeled room three hundred and fourty six. Arthur waited for it, too.  
                     They were all waiting for something, it seemed.  
            “It’s the law, sir.” The man felt emasculated.  
Arthur didn’t notice.  
  
After a few minutes or what felt like a few seconds, Arthur’s shirt had been grabbed at, possessively, he was trash that needed to be picked up or it would stay there.  
  
                                               If trash could think, would it want to be canned?  
                                               Just a thought.  
  
                  “No! I won’t leave! No!” Arthur spat the words out like they had been missiles, gathering momentum in his mouth. The two security guards were parasites.  
                They were illegal in Arthur’s eyes.  
  
                ‘No’ is a word typically used when a choice is made.  
                But Arthur Pendragon had not been given a choice at all.  
Arthur didn’t choose to leave. He just did. It was more of a fact, no matter how it happened, or that he used one word of decision, springing it in a situation not warranting one.  
                If one skips the details, like how Arthur gave a certain Doctor Fredman a black eye, or when his face turned to hot velvet, his hands fists, his eyes as slippery as marbles that would plug up water valves until they explode, and pent up feelings start to pour out, first with speed and sharp smacks as it covers anyone in its path; and secondly, in smooth consistency, like crying was never an error to Arthur Pendragon.  
                Crying wasn’t a mistake. But it was; it truly had sickened him to his core on arrival. Arthur was wrecking his pedestal. He dropped his crown and wouldn’t pick it up again. Not without Merlin. Merlin.  
"Merlin."

_No, I won't leave Merlin..._

                                     Merlin Merlin, Merlin. That idiot. That stupid idiot.

Was this a tantrum or did he deserve to be fuming with animosity? For Merlin? For his life?  
                                                               For himself?  
  
              Arthur in his last efforts not to get taken to the parking lot, shoved his body to the ground and covered his neck with his hands. He put his knees to his chest and would not look up. Part of this was for his pride.  
                                         Arthur was crying and he wasn’t supposed to be. He was brave.  
                                        He was trying to fool everyone, absolutely everyone.  
                                                   He was trying to be brave for Merlin.  
\----

It is also important to note that the hospital would talk about this for years to come.  
  
                           After a year of word of mouth, became known as the Blondie incident.  
           Doctor Fredman wanted to call it the Stubborn Asshole incident, but the name caught on for himself instead of for Arthur, so you can imagine he would stop calling it that. Its not like couples never had to be torn apart for legal reasons before in this hospital; on the contrary it happened all the time. But this was special. The legend of Arthur that the nurses would tell people made him out to be a hero. No one before him had ever fought security. They never really needed security before. It was hard to watch, but the newness of the occasion made it exciting.  
                       Not to mention Doctor Hubert Fredman’s black eye.  
 _Way to go, Blondie._

              Eventually, Arthur was pried up from the ground, and after kneeing the security guards in their manhood a few times, four more backup security guards from multiple wards had shown up and finally the lot of them had stopped getting the shit beaten out of them. Arthur was thrown out in the rawest, most literal and traditional sense of the phrase.  
                              - They took him to the lobby.  
                              - The automatic doors almost didn’t open fast enough,  
                              - and he fell directly on his face.  
                                         Arthur picked himself up, dusted himself off, and thought about peeing on the welcome sign for a few minutes. He didn’t. He went to his car, sat in it, and didn’t drive, either. But this he didn’t have to contemplate. He sat there and waited. He sat in his own car where he couldn’t get restrained for staying. He looked at the hospital, really looked at it.  
                                                He looked in all the windows for Merlin.  
                                                                If he saw Merlin looking back, he probably would have run inside again. This time, no one would be able to keep him from the inside of that white door.

 

No one.


	2. Fortified.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback into beginnings,   
> bars, and shit job interviews. 
> 
>  
> 
> Prior to the Blondie Incident.

                        Merlin stood on the opposite side of the room, staring into his cup. It was empty except for a drop, and Merlin was debating the worth of that drop. All arguments subsided, losing value when Arthur walked in to meet him at last. Merlin threw his cup away and immediately he was by Arthur’s side.

                                    The coffee: _obsolete._

               “How was it?” Merlin asked.   
               “I don’t want the job.” Arthur grumbled and looked ahead.   
  
Merlin almost stopped in his tracks. His mouth hung open a little, and it took everything he had not to let his eye twitch.  
               “I refuse to believe that. Of course you want the job. We drove halfway to Canada to get to it!”  
                                                                     Merlin was astounded.  
               “I’m sure I’ll find another. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Merlin.” Arthur still didn’t look him directly in the eyes, and that kind of bothered Merlin in a weird way.  
               “Well, why don’t you want it anymore?” Merlin squeaked. His eye was twitching now.  
               “I don’t have to answer you.” Arthur teased.   
               “But we took my car all the way down here!” Merlin tried to walk faster than Arthur so Arthur could at least see his angry face in his peripherals. He worked hard on that face and it deserved to be used. Especially now, in his current state of astoundment. Who knows when he will be allowed to be this astounded again?  
Arthur finally looked at Merlin. Merlin almost stopped walking. That prat was making the smuggest face he’d ever seen. Arthur avoided eye contact as he passed the front desk.   
               “The job was degrading. They wanted me to work in the mailroom.”  
               “You work your way up!” Merlin defended the position. If he would take it, why wouldn’t Arthur? Arthur wasn’t special.  
(Merlin knew he was, though. From the day they met, Merlin had always thought there was something special about Arthur Pendragon. Something that made his eyes like crystal beams that were honest and easy to look into, something that made his voice wise and better and magic. It was the magic of an all natural human being, a blunt truth. It was Arthur Pendragon’s own superpower that no one else could have or use or even notice. No one other than Merlin, who sometimes liked to believe it wasn’t there at all. Sometime like today.)  
               “I shouldn’t have to,” Arthur raised a brow.  
               “You don’t just become president because you look good on a dollar bill, Arthur.” Merlin tried to explain how normal people got good jobs. It wasn’t working.  
               “I was born president.”   
               Merlin rolled his eyes.  
               “You were born an arrogant prat.”  
               Arthur laughed and put his arm around Merlin.  
              “Tons of people will be dying to give me their best job. You’ll see.” Arthur was surprisingly mellow today. There was no real abuse or insult to his trusty sidekick yet. Merlin wanted to see how long this would last.  
              “Oh, I’ll see alright.” Sarcasm had always been in Merlin’s repituior.   
              “You mean, ‘I’ll see alright, Mister President.’” Arthur rolled his eyes and messed with Merlin’s hair, a sign that he won this battle. He won most battles, but Merlin liked to think he let him win. After all, no one liked victory more than Arthur Pendragon.   
              Once they got back to the ground floor, Merlin opened the front door for Arthur, and Arthur found the CR-V in the lot. It wasn’t really anything to brag about, but it was a good car. It had air conditioning, didn’t it?  
              Arthur got in the driver’s seat. He always drove. It’s not that Merlin didn’t know how, it’s just that Arthur had always insisted on driving. Merlin imagined Arthur liked the power of a car, and Merlin didn’t particularly want to drive, anyways. He liked to observe, listen to the radio, and tease Arthur for his driving quirks, so their system worked out pretty well.   
              From the day they met, they had been stuck by each-other’s side, bantering and quarreling--sometimes Merlin wondered why Arthur even kept him around, but when he asked himself that question, it was different. Merlin couldn’t leave Arthur alone. He wanted to show him how to not-be such a pompous idiot, whether it was working or not, that didn’t matter. Merlin remembered the bar fight and laughed a little at himself. Arthur’s father had owned the place, so thank god he wasn’t there when it happened.

****

__________

****

           “You’re not even from around here, are you?” Arthur asked, raising his shot.  
           “I’ll toast this one to you, the foreigner who’s too drunk to know what he’s saying.”  
           “I know exactly what I’m saying. You’re a prat.” Merlin flinched a smile at the accusation.  
           “You can’t call me that. I’ll have you thrown out.” Arthur raised his brow and looked at some of his oafish friends sitting on the bar stools on his other side.    
           “I want an apology.” Merlin was still half grinning.  
                     Arthur laughed like Merlin had just asked him for a dance.  
           “Isn’t that something I should be saying?” Arthur got up from his stool.  
           Merlin gulped back his surprise when he realized just how strong this guy was.  
           “Maybe I wouldn’t have to apologize if you weren’t such a prat.”  
                 That sounded better in Merlin’s head.

****

_Oh, they would dance alright._

__________

****

             “Merlin, you’re being quiet.” Arthur blurted out.  
             “And that actually bothers you?” Merlin blurted out.  
  
                    The conversation was quite frankly a mess from the beginning on.

             “Talk about something that I don’t care about.” Arthur didn’t look at Merlin. He looked at the road. Merlin felt his voice like it came from a television. His voice wasn’t looking at Merlin, either.  
             “Morality, decency, love, honor, people other than yourself,” Merlin listed things that he thought fit in that category quite nicely. Arthur wasn’t in agreement with his selection.  
             “You’re forgetting something.” Arthur’s voice was like the FM radio. Merlin wished he’d look over. He didn’t like the way Arthur could look right over him when they were having a conversation. It made him feel general.  
             “Oh?” Merlin looked at him hard, trying to get him to look back.  
             “Merlin Emrys.” Arthur said his name like it was his own. Merlin wanted to hear it again. He didn’t know why. Arthur had just insulted him, hadn’t he? Arthur had always treated Merlin like he could care less. It made him angry sometimes. He usually let it go.  
             “Arthur.” Merlin said his name just to say it. He wanted to own Arthur’s name too, but it didn’t fit in his mouth as easily as Merlin’s name fit in Arthur’s.

It didn’t stick.

             When Merlin said Arthur’s name it stood there with packed bags and left him. It stopped the car and got out. It leaked out the window. Merlin didn’t say Arthur’s name with possession. It was more of a worship. Merlin could feel the fondness in his breath when he said it. He hated that fondness, he couldn’t identify it. Merlin could only see it as a separation. It’s what kept Arthur two steps ahead. It’s what kept him looking through the window and straight ahead instead of eye to eye with Merlin.  
             “What kind of retaliation is that? I was under the impression that you thought I only cared about myself. How do I fit in the category of Things That I Don’t Care About?” Arthur laughed. Again.  
             Merlin kept quiet. Maybe that was the key to getting Arthur’s attention.  
                        What a strange idea.

             Arthur waited for a reply and when he didn’t get one, he grunted.  
                       Merlin smiled to himself.  
             “Cat got your tongue, Meeeeerlin?” Arthur called.   
                       It was Merlin’s turn to laugh.  
            Arthur was surprised by that.  
            “What’s so funny?” Arthur wanted to know.   
                      Merlin just kept laughing to himself.  
            “Hey, tell me!” Arthur was getting obsessed with the answer.  
                      Merlin laughed at that, too.  
            “What are you thinking in there?” Arthur was as impatient as ever.  
            “You really want to know?” Merlin gave Arthur his best smile that he didn’t see.  
            Arthur nodded to the glass windshield.  
  
                     “You always tell me to shut up, but when I do, you egg me on for a reply. It’s really funny.” Merlin stated. Arthur blinked.   
                     “Well its just because you--” Arthur tried to tell Merlin that since he talked so much it wasn’t normal for him to be so charmingly thoughtless, and no matter what Arthur told Merlin he wanted, above all else he wanted Merlin to be just Merlin.  
                     Telling him that answer was the last thing on his mind. What could he say to deflect such a pointed statement? Arthur couldn’t think of anything good, so he used an insult.  
                     “You’re such an idiot, Merlin.” Arthur sang.  
                     “And you’re a dollophead.” Merlin pitched.  
                     “That isn’t a word.” Arthur corrected.  
                     “Yes it is.”

 


	3. Frustration.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is a toad,  
> enter: Guinevere.
> 
> Prior to the Blonde Incident. 
> 
> ((AUTHOR'S NOTE/CONDOLENCES/SELF-HATE/EXCUSE: Not my favorite chapter. AT ALL. I hated writing it, but it needed to be written so the events after make sense. (next chapter has a Merthur kiss to make up for this nonsense, so read through and be rewarded, alright! (: ) I promise, you read the genre correctly. This isn't arwen.))

_____________

“Let’s handle this like men,” Arthur and Merlin were both standing.  
Arthur, with his arms out, had what seemed like the entire crowd of bar-goers backing him.  
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Merlin looked at him sternly.  
“Oh, its a great idea. Unless that is, you want to take back what you said earlier?”  
"What?"  
"You called me a prat."  
“Right, well I’m sorry, what I meant to call you earlier was an insufferable prat.”  
Merlin stood his ground.  
Arthur was entertained.  
“Okay. I bet you think you’re pretty clever right now. Come on then, have at it. Lets go outside.”  
“You’ll regret it.” Merlin stated, as if it was a fact that he could take Arthur on.  
“Please. I could rip you apart with one blow.” Arthur smirked. It was hysterical, wasn’t it? Who was this interesting, clearly mental noobie?  
And, above all else, what is with that neckerchief? 

“I could take you apart with less than that.”  
____________

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Gwen stated.  
"It's a great idea," Merlin laughed.  
Merlin opened his cabinet, took out the pasta box, and waited for the water to boil.  
“What did your dad say when you told him," he rubbed his hands together in the sink.

“He didn’t understand why I adore Lance. Still doesn’t.”  
“Is it their job to understand, or to just support you?”  
“Well, Toronto is a ways away...why, do you support me?”  
“I’m not your father, Gwen.”  
“He told me Lance wasn’t perfect, not perfect enough to go to Toronto for.”  
“Hes not, though. Hes not, and you deserve perfect.” Merlin smiled at her, trying to mimic the ideal himself.  
Gwen was nothing short of entertained. She had seen Merlin as a potential boyfriend years before, but no matter what she did, nothing ever came of it. They were too different, she thought. There was always something about Merlin Emrys that kept them platonic, like he had been tied to something elsewhere and she could never understand what it was, or is, or if it even exists outside her mind.

“He’s perfect for me. No one understands, Merlin. Lance is perfect, just for me.” She sighed.  
“What do you mean?”  
“See, I knew it. Not even the great Merlin of Ealdor gets it.”  
Gwen, in defense of someone she thought was much better suited for her than this charming void of friend-zone character, continued on.  
“What is there to get? You deserve better than Lance. He's hurt you so many times before.”  
“I think if you would've met him outside of my silly crying sessions, you'd like him better. Actually, I'm quite certain of it. The past is in the past, Merlin. There is no one better for me than Lancelot. No one can possibly be better than someone who is just for me, someone that loves me. You think you can do better?”

Suddenly, there was a breeze coming from the hallway.  
A slam was followed by some scratched stomps on the welcome mat.

 

Enter: Arthur.

"I know I can. You aren't dating him yet." Arthur tried to be cool. He wanted this. More importantly, he wanted to do something with his situation. Merlin's eyes widened and he turned to face the sink again. What was Arthur doing here?  
The reason didn't quite matter, though. He was here, and he was pinning for Gwen.  
Merlin wanted Gwen to be as happy as possible, but this?  
Merlin's eyes squinted in pain as Arthur's voice declared the words,

 

"Go out with me."

Merlin sunk his hands into the sink and dipped his head down.  
He had seen it coming.  
His heart beating so fast, however, that he wasn't expecting.

 

Gwen's eyes bugged out of her head, after her eyebrows made their way down in a flexed position, she walked over to him, preparing to slap, yet after looking into Arthur's eyes, she kept it to herself.

Merlin's face heated, he wanted more than anything to leave.  
But this was his house! His home.

Why?

Gwen looked at Merlin and sighed. "Let's take a walk,"  
Arthur nodded.

Coat rack now vacant a polka-dot purse, a pair of sneakers and a red jacket, Merlin could outwardly express his anguish, sit on his couch, huddled, and stare into a framed portrait of his cat, Kilgharrah, with the utmost bewilderment.

"What?! What the..." The cat was targeted on sight.  
"You! Dragon! What's going on? What's even happening! What do I do?"  
Gently, he whisked his wise advisor off of his old, plump cat feet. 

Kilgharrah might not always be the most helpful, but whenever things were rough and he could not handle it alone, as any grown man would do, Merlin consults his trusty cat to give well needed relationship advice.

Kilgharrah responded with cuddling.

 

"I'm sure I'll hear all about it from the two of them tomorrow," Merlin flopped back onto the couch and stared at his ceiling, cat curling up on his stomach.  
And then, sleepily he thought about Arthur.  
Arthur's lips, eyes, all smiling at him. 

 

"Arthur's smile is the best thing in the world."

Merlin wondered if he was smiling at her right now. Theres no way she could deny him. Merlin even felt a little sorry for Lancelot, the man he was previously wary of. He lost. Its over now. 

 

And then, Merlin began to feel sorry for himself.  
"I lost. It's over now, Arthur." Merlin hummed.

 

At the moment, he was not entirely positive of what this kind of statement suggested, nor did he care. He didn't notice that he had just claimed to Arthur in a way that mirrored Lancelot's claim to Guinevere. 

The only thing Merlin had realized, was the feeling in his gut. Misery. It would only get worse from here on out.  
Kilgharrah purred.


	4. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memory, a Catalyst.
> 
>  
> 
> Confusion runs rampant among the two boys.   
> After Gwen accepts Arthur's advancements and Lancelot moves back to Toronto. 
> 
> Prior to the Blonde Incident.
> 
> ((AUTHOR'S ANGST. :  
> AGH. I'm so sorry for writing confusing chapters. I wish I was better at this, oh geez. If you've read everything so far, thank you, and I promise these timelines, these loose ends will all be tied by the time I'm finished.))

                "Merlin, she's the best in the world." Arthur yelled.

Merlin took a swig of liquor. 

                "Merlin, are you even listening to me?!" Arthur yelled again.

  
Merlin grumbled down another.  
  


               "Merlin!"

"The phone line is breaking up." He sputtered through the alcohol. 

               "That’s bullshit," Arthur laughed.

Merlin squinted, and held the phone to the shot glass he was currently emptying into his mouth.  "Arthur, I don't have time to hear about your legendary adventures into Guinevere's underwear drawer."   
"Just because you haven't gotten a girl in bed since Medieval times doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to."  
  


                              _Yes it does._

  
  
                   Merlin drank directly from the bottle.   
                              "Leave me alone."  
                        "If you hang up on me I'll come over."  
                               "You liar."  
                        "I never lie."  
                              "Only a liar would say that."  
                        "Merlin, are you drinking?"  
                              "..." Merlin sighed, "no."  
  
And he hung up.  
  
                                        An hour later, Arthur was on top of him.   
                      Merlin wrestled for the bottle, and Arthur straddled him down and firmly away from it.   
                                   "You're the liar." Arthur beckoned.  
                                 (He was very pleased with himself.)  
  
"So what, you clotpole." Arthur stopped struggling for control. He stared down into Merlin's eyes, and got off of him, almost roboticly. The bottle remained in his hand.  
  


                          "Why. Why are you drinking alone on a Saturday night."

He looked back to Merlin, bewildered to see only a sleeping drunkard in his place.  
Arthur scoffed.

  
After disposing of the remains of the alcohol and rinsing the glasses, he made it his duty to get his bestfriend off to bed.  
This was a trickier task than he would admit to the next day.   
              As soon as Merlin had gotten to his feet, he staggered back to sit on the couch. It took three tries of sitting efforts, and on the fourth, Merlin made it to the doorway before leaning a little too close to Arthur for his liking.

  
              Their mouths were bare inches, heat crept between the opening slits of lips, Arthur clasped the back of Merlin's shirt to steady him, but it was a fruitless effort. Merlin leaned in, and lightly, something happened that he would never remember, and Arthur would have never reminded him of.  
  
 _ **You're the liar.**_  
Arthur did it the second time. He pushed his mouth into the shape of Merlin's, he went back and forth, pushed his tongue in, opened his eyes and he almost screamed. He opened the door behind Merlin and pushed him onto his bed and slammed the door, then ran out of the apartment. He opened his car and drove it and sat in the driveway of his house. His heart was fast and his keys were still in the ignition and he couldn't breath. Arthur couldn't breath.  
  
                   After hours of staring into his windshield, he got up, got out, and trudged to his bed.  
                                                                  He lied there all night to himself.  
                                                                             He told himself it didn't mean anything.

  
Arthur looked at his keys and sunk down into his mattress. His body still heavy, his heart still fast, as the moment between his lips and Merlin's, and the sore ache of his brain connecting improperly gave him jitters that could either mean two things.  
  
              1. He wanted to return to Merlin's bed.  
              2. He was an idiot with no idea what he was doing.  
  
In actuality, Arthur Pendragon knew exactly what this meant, both possibilities irrelevant.   
  
  


  
  
  
What it meant was that he was completely

and utterly

 

in over his head.

 

_________________


	5. For You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this because I was in a rush to post it, so expect a better version by late tomorrow night. :P 
> 
> prior to the Blondie incident, and after Lance moves to Toronto. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please give me any and all feedback! Also, if you know anyone who would like to be my editor please give me a name and I'll beg on my own :) i'm kind of a loner in this fandom, which makes me sad because it would be so great to make some friends.

         Cool touches of water slid down and stung at Merlin's scalp repetitively as the sky drained into evening. It was raining, he was outside, and Arthur was about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

_Saving someone._

        Merlin, days old into a one sided _something_ with Arthur Pendragon, only fell into that something because of how he had seen Arthur change, how he had become better, how much he could grow with Merlin by his side. It was a nameless sort of something that Merlin felt; a humble dependency that wasn't expected or natural to him or even reciprocated. Merlin was accustomed to co-dependency, but this was new. Having spent years reflecting on the blonde, drunk, seemingly witless boy in the bar, he wondered how things could have gotten this far from where they began. Arthur was something to Merlin because of that way Merlin had seen him change.

         At this point Merlin had for years been watching Arthur turn into someone who could make him feel something no one else could. He had been watching Arthur become someone who could, not necessarily did, but _could,_ save people.

                                                                         Into a hero, with his whole heart.

 

         And now that there was such a thing growing in the heart of Arthur Pendragon, Merlin was not only feeling something deeper than admiration for his courage, but he was scared of it and what it would do to the son of a bar owner, of a regular boy in red sweatshirts and complete trust in Merlin and Gwen and _everyone_ , every single bloody person around him. Faith in the Gods that were unsupportive to heroes at night, and more importantly, faith in mankind. Arthur was a braveheart now.  
 **And that terrified Merlin.**

 

          For weeks, Arthur had been slowly slipping away in the dead of night - at first, Merlin wouldn’t notice, but then when Gwen deliberately called him wondering where Arthur was, and after ten voicemail messages starting with Merlin calmly asking him where he was, and ending with splutters of _prat_ and _arse_ and _bloody twat,_ words only Merlin could say to Arthur, or would, foreign to America forever in his use of the English language, but close enough to Arthur Pendragon to be able to insult him and get away with it.

 

           It was this rainy dusk that would lead Merlin to follow him after all those nights spent wondering. Not out of curiosity, but out of a sense of impending doom...Maybe it was the same necessity that kept them at odds together that made him track Arthur that night  
.  
  Maybe it was destiny after all that kept him doing it.

 

The pitter-patter and sloshing of rubber tires in street puddles brought Merlin out of his thoughts, into a black coat and through the door, then down the street to find what he was destined to protect.

            Ten minutes in advance, Arthur stuffed his fists into his pockets, visibly shaking from taking his beating of cold, vertical precipitation bullets without an umbrella or even a decent hood to wear. Looking around for a way to protect himself, finally he heard a noise that unsettled him to the point of forgetting his source of misery. A scream, young in its pitch, girlish and meager. A victim.

  
Drawing his fists from his pockets Arthur arched his back and ran in that direction.  
           Several more followed it.  
Merlin had lost track of his friend in the tapping winter night.  
                       

                          “Arthur!”

It was no use. The jacketed wizard, after all this time, useless in his power and strength. Merlin was stronger than Arthur would ever know,  
and it meant nothing, afterall.

\-----

          Merlin wondered how he had gotten himself in such a horrible position.  
He wasn’t drunk, not even close. No matter what his mum or even his childhood friend and partner in crime, Will would suggest, Merlin had an astoundingly high alcohol tolerance for his weight. One bottle of Corona wouldn't leave even the smallest of scratches if his sobriety was something tangible.

                                                ***On a sidenote:***  
                                  The first drink Merlin had ever had  
                              was also during the first mistake Merlin  
                             had ever made twice.  
                                                                That mistake?  
                                                                  _Trusting Will._

 

           Still, alcohol in any case did take the edge off, and Merlin had quite the frustrating first day in the United States. After losing his luggage on the plane ride over, Merlin had a series of misadventures leading up to him finding this very bar at this very moment, and meeting this very assertive blond meathead, except Arthur didn’t look at all like a meathead to Merlin, no matter the tough guy act he put on for his buddies nor his impressive build.

                                                              He looked like a child. An annoying, trying child.

          The first swing was Arthur’s. A straightforward jab to the gut. Merlin dodged it with little trouble, but the shock in his eyes told Arthur he had found an opening.  
                  “Nice dodge, but I hope you realize that was a fluke.”  
                         “Was it now.” Merlin taunted. Wait, what was he doing?

            His mother, a pacifist to her core, had always taught Merlin to be wiser than this.  
                         To avoid fighting.

  
                      And until now, he had.  
\-----

           It was only after the hysterics of three loud gunshot that Merlin had found Arthur at last.  
  Standing in front of a small child and unconscious mother, Arthur stood, shoes shiny and soaked thoroughly, legs braced, arms out to both sides, as if protecting someone from breaking something dear and fragile. Something important.  
Merlin noticed the man with the gun threatening Arthur had it pointed up in the air, relieved, Merlin then noticed the woman had appeared to have fainted.

          The moments were fast after the initial shock of finding this scene in motion; Merlin, leaping in front of Arthur before even he could realize Merlin was there, or what was happening--wet clothes weighing him down, his mind blank and still and determined to keep this child from--but it was _Merlin_ , oh god--it was Merlin in front of Arthur now, of all people and places for it to be _Merlin_ , Merlin now...Merlin, here... Another gun shot.

         Arthur shouted jumbled nonsense and the child cried out, and the man with the gun cursed and fumbled with it and shot up until there was nothing left it was dark blue, and the fabric tied around Merlin's neck was blood red, and Merlin, _Merlin_...silent, as a ghost already! Silent, like this is something he was born to do. Merlin, bullets flying. Merlin.

  
In the mixed of chaos, Merlin made no sound.

          Arthur's eyes watered in the rain, in the night where his blond hair was black and his red sweater was dull and nothing meant anything, and his chest thumped like a piano ballad, and his feet were still, and his mouth was open, nothing coherent coming out, but _Merlin_.... _Merlin_...

          Merlin's feet danced around danger, and his arms swong, and his mouth was shut, and his eyes were golden. All fire. All duty, and the man with the gun fell to that.

They all fell in that divinity. That sort of silent justice.

In seconds Merlin had grabbed the child's palm in his hand, lifted the woman onto his back, in the rain, in the shadow and finally, spoke his first words.

                     "Come with me," _and Arthur did._

 

 

           In the police station, they were given towels and hot drinks. The child wouldn't let go of Merlin's hand the entire time. Arthur sat, motionless.  
                                             It was sunrise by the time they began home. The storm turned into a light drizzle around them.  
                                                  Arthur wanted to scream, but to his surprise, Merlin was already fufilling that gut desire.

 

 **Q:** _What were you thinking?_

                "Its not up to you to be the watchdog of the whole goddamn place, Arthur! Its not your burden, so leave it alone!"  
                                      He spat the words out like he had been wishing to say them all his life.  
                "Think about what would happen if I...if you....if..." gesturing widely, Merlin hadn't noticed the surprised look he was recieving. His voice only grew louder.

                "I can't....just you think about Gwen! You think about what she would say! The girl you made stay here when, for heaven's sake, she should have been halfway to Toronto months ago, and I was too much of a sodding idiot to let her go! You think about that before you get put in a coma and theres nothing I can do about it, no stupid spell or bloody enchantment or way to get you out of it again! You _idiot!_ " Merlin's incoherent jumble of "can't"s, "i"s, "you"s, and "if"s had begun to unravel into angry ramblings, but Arthur, numb to it all, could only stare back, blinking a few times in response.

 

"I can't lose you to this city, don't you understand?!"  
          That did it.

 

                         "What were you thinking, jumping in front of me like that?" Arthur's voice was small, but it was dark.  
                Merlin's pointed stare shifted to a hurt one.  
                        "What was I...what," was all he could say.  
                         "Why did you...how did you...why were you...why," Arthur couldnt work it out in his head.

                  There was so much he didn't know, and there was so much already that he would never know.

                Again, Merlin was quiet. Quiet at the wrongest, most inhumane moments.

But like all moments, the silence passed, and Merlin, said something he would say only a select many times over in only a few different contexts. Regardless of when said, it would always have a profound result on Arthur Pendragon.

 

               "I did it for you, Arthur. Anything for you, anything..." Merlin broke, "just please don't get hurt. Don't leave me alone."

Merlin looked down at his feet, hands balled up; he was wiping his eyes with his sleeve when something clicked in Arthur's mind for the first time.  
      He wanted to reach out to Merlin, and tell him that he would never let anything happen to either of them. He wanted to hold Merlin, and for Merlin to hold him, and he wanted to let Merlin know that Arthur was magic in the ways that only Merlin could manifest. That Arthur was strong enough, and Merlin didn't have to cry for him. But with only his eyes staring into Merlin's shoulder to convey everything, he didn't.

He said nothing at all.


	6. Frozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus, this fic is far from over. :) 
> 
> The day after the Blondie Incident;  
> Arthur's feelings after Merlin's accident spiral out to the surface. Gwen does not understand.

 

            "How is he?" Gwen shot up.  
Her voice pitched loud and clear, as Arthur made his way back into the waiting room.

 

                               "It's too soon."  
                                _I don't know._

    Arthur sat down, he sank into the bench like he had the day prior, but this time his mortal enemy, the dreaded Doctor Fredman, was not on duty.

 

                                                       ******ON A SIDE NOTE******

                                          _Doctor Fredman was unwittingly a very lucky man._

 

            "You can go to work now, Arthur. I'm here. I can stay."

        Gwen looked into Arthur's eyes, her stare caught him off guard with its usual warmth. She smiled softly, gloom overshadowing her tone of voice. Arthur understood that more than anyone.

He understood sadness as a childhood friend.

        "I have nowhere else I'd rather be, and after the hard time they gave me yesterday I deserve my spot on this bench. Actually, I've well earned it."

    Gwen let out a shy laugh, and she attempted to hold his hand, easing her way through delicate fingers, but Arthur, forgetting politeness entirely, shoved it off, threatened, with no hesitation. Why are you doing that?

 

                   "Arthur, I know this is hard." Gwen sighed.

                    Arthur's stomach shifted.

                   "Arthur, I'm here. I exist. You have me." Gwen supported.

                           

                           ** _But you're not Merlin._**

                            Arthur said it out loud.

               

                    Gwen blinked twice.

           

            Arthur's eyes shut, he squeezed them between cheek and brow.

                "I'm not?...What?" Gwen folded her hands neatly in her lap.

            Arthur slumped there on his victory bench. He almost let his hand hit his forehead.

            Instead, he slouched over his knees and looked at the ground.

                _Defeated._

       

               "Arthur, I'm confused." Gwen looked at him.

               "You aren't the only one," Arthur looked at her.

   

        The room seemed to grow in blurred white air. It was awkward and large, and pale. The hanging lamps dropped from the ceiling, as Arthur's hands covered his eyes. They crashed to the ground and the room was black, no more Gwen, no more Merlin, no more Doctor Fredman and his black eye. No more fighting. Arthur was constantly fighting,

   

           and then his heart dropped recklessly with the lights, and his eyes filled with water and the salt burned his skin as it rolled down sluggishly, and suddenly he was warm with a woman's body around his own. Arthur was being held. Gwen stroked his back and let him stay down. He was not the victor on the prized bench anymore. Arthur saw his present as a curse, he wanted it out of the box, he wanted Merlin out of his bed. He wanted Merlin never alone again.

       

                              **He never wanted to be left alone again.**

 

               _What will I do if he isn't alright?_

              Arthur didn't say that out loud.

    He asked Merlin questions in his head, most of which will remain a mystery to public speculation. Most of which, most definitely do not make any logical sense.

        He asked Merlin so many questions, they were endless, and a few of the ones he repeated, he thought about answering himself.

 

 **Stable**.

Arthur looked up from his palms. Gwen's circular motion halted in place on his back.

 

                "Mr. Emrys's condition is stable."

         Gwen looked at Arthur, and he smiled as widely as he could. Arthur could almost laugh at the title his best friend had been given. Mr. Emrys. You might as well call him Professor Emrys, or Grandfather Emrys. Old man Emrys. Hand him a beard and a briefcase at once.

 

       Gwen thought to herself, what a smile. What a look, and she wished she had been the one to give it to Arthur. She remembered such a smile on a familiar, scruffy face. She remembered how she could give Lance a smile like that. She sighed in fondness of the boy who was much-too-bad-for-her. The one Arthur could beat out with only a few words, though in retrospect, she wasn’t entirely sure why. Pretty words, maybe. There was something special about Arthur Pendragon that gave him whatever he wanted. Something...special. Something Merlin would know.

 

Even still, the fact that Arthur could almost laugh at anything right now was a good transition, Gwen thought.

            Yet she was confused.

 

If her efforts didn't change Arthur's mood in the slightest, why did the word stable help?

    She worried briefly about her girlfriend-tactics before remembering what this news meant.

 

It meant it was only a little while longer until Arthur and Merlin could see each-other again.

 

            Gwen smiled from ear to ear.

        It meant whatever this was, it was ending, _at last._


	7. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaius and Merlin.
> 
> Prior to the Blondie Incident.
> 
> Merlin tells Gaius about everything that has happened between the boys, and Gaius prepares to go into brain surgery.  
> In this chapter, you get a better grasp of Merlin's life. How things are pushing on him and pushing on him, and how he's under a lot of stress.

          Pale blue air cools and sweats to summer rains, back when Merlin was on his feet, and Lancelot was not a name without a face. The sky fills with misty purple steam, preparing to deploy shuttering black booms, and lightning cracks out from beneath their pillowed rims. There is a boy with infuriatingly large ears, and the most underappreciated smile in the world waiting for his workweek to be over, and, of course, for red neckerchiefs to finally be in style.

          After checking the clock from behind the register counter down to the very last minute, Merlin retired his usual bar smock and left Camelot anxiously, without nodding to his boss, Uther, or even to talk to Morgana about her day.

          The red around his neck barely poked out behind the smooth dark blue of his hoodie, and the rain, soft and warm to the touch, echoed loudly on the cement as Merlin signalled a taxi, and in bare minutes, was standing in front of the double doors of the oldest building in the entire neighborhood. An elderly folk’s home, where (1) ex-magician and his legendary eyebrow raise was waiting for his arrival.

 

           Merlin paid the taxi-driver with wet dollar bills, and soon, after a gulp and a moment to clench fists in grey daylight, was through the door, past the flirtatious secretary, and face to face with something he was not sure he would ever be able to handle seeing.

 

              “Well don’t just stand there, boy.” Impatient, Gaius sat on his bed, and looked pointedly at Merlin and then to his wheelchair.

                 “Today is the day,” Merlin nervously sighed.

             “Nice to see you too.”

          Merlin’s frozen legs melted into useful ones once again, and in no time he was by Gaius’s side, leveling him, and adjusting his body until a nurse could comfortably slide the wheelchair beneath him.

             “Now that the hardest part is taken care of, I believe we do have some time to kill.” Gaius sighed. He looked up to Merlin, smiled halfway and spoke, “Do you have anything you wish to talk about before we enter the hospital, and things begin to really get serious?”

Gaius’s voice was stern, as always. Anyone could see the sass in his wit, but few noticed the endearment. Merlin was one of the few, recognizing that although Gaius was not the joking type, he was nothing if not saucy.

 

                                Merlin looked uncomfortably at his mentor.

                  “Its been a while since I’ve come here, hasn’t it.”

            Gaius looked at Merlin, and the earnest nod he gave made Merlin’s fears subside. Nothing that was important to Merlin was unimportant to Gaius. He wanted to hear all of Merlin’s grievances, whether it was the right time, or past the right time.

           “Does it have to do with Arthur,” Gaius ventured softly.

Merlin looked to Gaius, half smiling in piteous humility, and in the same respect, Merlin nodded back to Gaius.

           “Bonds as strong as the one between you two often lead to trouble. What has happened?” Gaius pats Merlin on the shoulder, and Merlin begins.  
                 “Gaius, I think,” Merlin stutters, “I don’t know what I think, actually.”

                  “I think the way I’ve been feeling lately is completely, ah, its completely inappropriate, Gaius. I think that, well, there is some reason in the middle there I should probably explain first, but,” Merlin rambled. “I don’t know what words I can put to describe how I feel,” Merlin gestured widely, grimacing.

           “What is your explanation,” Gaius wondered.

                 “Arthur has, well. He’s been doing things, I guess, and I have no idea what to expect out of him anymore, Gaius! I mean, jeez! In the middle of the night, he’s on the streets! In the day, he’s with Guinevere!”

           “ _Guinevere?_ ” Gaius looked surprised. Lancelot worked at the same hospital Gaius used to be a pharmacist at before he retired.

                 “Yes, he heard that Lancelot tried to come back to Gwen, and take her with him to Canada, and now the dollophead is convinced he’s in love with her. About the streets thing, the prat is of the opinion he’s bloody Super Man or something, the way he looks for trouble! Its ridiculous! I’m going out of my mind trying to keep him safe--every single night, I keep having to tail him; and saving him without him catching on is a harder feat than you’d think, considering he’s dumb enough to think that he’s capable of doing it all on his own!” Merlin took a deep breath, he was yelling loudly at this point.

           “Is he trying to prove anything?” Gaius’s tone was solemn, “Merlin, you might not understand this. Arthur thinks differently than you do, and you’re a saint for putting up with it, but there is always a reason.”

                 “What reason is there for trying to get yourself killed?” Merlin exasperated.

          “What reason do you have for putting your life on the line for his sake?”

                “Well,” Merlin again was gesturing vaguely, “its the right thing to do.” He guessed.

          “Exactly, Merlin. In Arthur’s eyes, he thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

                “But there are people who care about him! How is it the right thing if he’s just running around in the worst parts of the city, jumping in front of situations he can’t handle, and not caring about those people?”

         “Merlin, you’re upset with Arthur, yet you do the same things.”

                 “I can handle myself, I have magic, Gaius.”

         “I didn’t forget.” Gaius retorts, raising his eyebrow.

                                                    Merlin runs a hand through his hair.

                “The arse doesn’t understand that he’s not bulletproof.”

        “Have you talked to him about it?”

                  “I was caught once, saving him. I arrived too late to be covert in helping him,” Merlin meekly voiced, putting a hand to his forehead and continuing, “there was a child, and a mother, and a man with a gun. God knows what he would have done with it,” Merlin’s voice went grave.

               “After I stopped the man, and brought the two back to the authorities; I really let Arthur have it,” Merlin’s eyes were deep, and his brows furrowed.

 

               “I said everything I thought, I even mentioned magic. He was too confused to understand, and I guess it sounded like I was using a figure of speech, or something, but I was so angry, Gaius! I was so scared.”

        “Merlin,” Gaius paused.

              “And I don’t know what I would have done to that robber if he would have hurt him,” Merlin went pale, “if he would have hurt that woman and her kid.”

       “ _Merlin,_ ” Gaius paused again.

             “And _saving_ people, I would do it, Gaius, I would do it over and over again on my own,” Merlin pleaded, “but it scares me, that Arthur is the same as me; he tries to save these people, Gaius.” Merlin’s eyes welled up.

             “The difference is, he actually _looks_ for trouble, and all these years...all these years since I was a little boy I’ve had these powers, and I haven’t known what to do with them! If they’re even _meant_ for anything! I’ve had so many chances, and I haven’t done a single thing, and here Arthur is, doing everything he can, looking for people to help, without anything at all...I don’t know what to do anymore, Gaius! I don’t know what I’m doing, and I know somewhere I’ve always felt something for Arthur, but, _this_...I’m so confused between wanting to brain him, and wanting to hug him and, what the _fuck_ , Gaius, what...What do I **do**!”

 

                            Merlin held his face in his hands, sitting on the bed next to Gaius’s wheelchair.

            “What am I doing...”

 

     “Merlin,” Gaius began, finally. “Merlin, you’re the bravest boy I’ve ever met.”  
Merlin looked up to meet Gaius’s warm stare.

            “You’re growing up, yes, I suppose its my time to realize it. Today is as good of a day as any to. You’re the bravest of them all, Merlin. Situationally, what makes a person brave isn’t what difficulties lay in their path, or what powers they have or do not. Its the decisions they make that lead them there. I believe, Merlin, its what you do with the difficulties, and how you choose to overcome your suffering that makes you so brave. Arthur, he has something to prove. He’s looking for trouble because he thinks he deserves it. You’re capable of helping so many people, Merlin, you are correct. You could do so many wonderful things with your power. But, you are too hard on yourself, boy. You are much too hard on yourself.” Gaius’s voice cracked in age, rain tapped on the glass of his window, and his smile was slight, and quivering.

    “You are just a boy, Merlin. Just one boy, growing up. And Arthur, he thinks he’s superhuman, but you know better. You know better than believing that you’re unstoppable, yet you save him anyway. It isn’t your job to fix the world, Merlin, and neither is it Arthur’s, even if he thinks it may be."

     “The wonderful, lovable thing about Arthur Pendragon is that he is inclined to try. And what makes you special, and wonderful, Merlin, is that you help him, even though you know its not possible, and he may one day suffer for it.”

                     Merlin’s eyes were wide, sad, alone in these words, but they comforted him. He sniffled in tears and wet nosed smiles, and pulled back his hair again.

     “I won’t tell you what your own feelings are, Merlin. You’ll understand in time,” Gaius assumed, “but I am certain that you were meant to be by Arthur’s side. This is what your powers were for, Merlin. Stay worried for Arthur’s sake. Continue to feel confused, you’re brave for doing so, for choosing that path.”

                              Merlin laughed softly to himself.

            “It doesn’t feel as though I’ve chosen at all.”

                              Gaius laughed with him.

     “ _Oh, but you have._ ”

 

           The door shut, and after blank minutes of discomposure between friends, a foreign voice entered in.

        “Mr. Emrys, if you would please take Gaius into the left wing when you arrive at the Albion Memorial Hospital, for his brain surgery scheduled this afternoon. It’s about that time,” She winked, and smiled gently at the old man sitting in front of her.

            “Yes ma’am, thank you.” Merlin smiled sweetly and wiped his eyes, then got up, and took the handles of Gaius’s wheelchair into his palms.

     “Everything will be alright,” Gaius spoke, his voice, all business.

        Merlin wondered why Gaius would possibly comfort Merlin when he is the one going into brain surgery. Merlin humbled himself to that, and clenched the handles, gaining moxy in his step and equanimity in his mindset.

           “I know it will,” Merlin warmly continued, “you’re my rock, Gaius.”

     “I will be just fine,” Gaius agreed.

          “Absolutely.”

 

        Once at the hospital, a nurse took the handles away from Merlin, so Merlin walked besides the moving chair, and Gaius held his hand. Fear tremored in his grip.

  
            “I love you, you’ll be alright.” Merlin smiled.

        He had tried to get rid of the tumor in Gaius’s brain many times before. It just wouldn’t work...this was the only way to save him now. This was the last stand.

 

            “Everything is going to be okay,” Merlin yelled as the wheelchair gained distance, and his hand was no longer firmly in Gaius’s.

     “Most definitely,” Gaius’s voice was losing confidence. He sounded horrified.

 

        Merlin smiled more, yelling loudly now to get his voice to reach Gaius.

            “Check your hand!” Merlin squeeked.

 

        Gaius opened his hand, and in it, were growing blue flowerbuds, sparkling with enchantment.

    The last thing Merlin heard was an old man’s heartfelt laughter rolling down a gloomy, dooming hall. That was enough.

 

        “We will call you as soon as the surgery is finished,” One nurse behind a desk agrees.   
                   “You are his only relative in the area, and you will be contacted first.”

            “Yes, thank you.” Merlin nervously nods, “If you don’t mind me asking this, I wasn’t approached with an exact way of payment before I agreed to the surgery, and I was wondering how I would,” Merlin searched for words. He was tired, and there was a subtle ache in his back that told him any success this surgery would bring, would also bring debt.

        “You haven’t found a payment plan? Oh my,” One of the nurses looked worried, “Oh no. Usually, we make sure we have everything finalized before we allow the surgery to-”

            “No, I agreed to it, I will have the money,” Merlin desperately voiced, “you don’t have to stop anything. Please.”

                           There was a long silence, and then a puffy sigh.

     “We understand you’re stressed, Mr. Emrys. This is not an easy thing to go through for the family, it’s almost worse waiting outside than it is for the patient, but we would prefer it if you would finalize everything before agreeing to such a strenuous process.”

           “No,” Merlin’s voice was raw, “no, ma’am. You’re wrong.” _He would have died._

          “Gaius is going through something I will hopefully not be able to understand for a very long time, and there is nothing as bad for me, as there is for him. He’s strong.”

        The nurse blinked at Merlin, and Merlin swallowed uncomfortably.

        “My mistake.”  
            “Please send me an email with his medical bills, you have my information.”

 

               Merlin left swiftly with that remark, and they gawked at him until he was completely out of sight.

 

                                _You’re the bravest of them all, Merlin. You're just a boy, just one boy, growing up._

 

        At four PM, many weeks before the events of our current story unfold in the same hospital, a boy in a neckerchief sits down on a bench in a hall, unbothered by certain doctors and security guards working that very same day. He stares at the crack in the wall opposing him, and wonders how dark it is, when your eyes close, and the sky is so full of clouds, you can’t see the stars.

 

       Someone in Canada, unpacks his bags, stares out over large brown boxes, and wishes his friends a better life than the one he’s now living.

 

       Arthur and Guinevere, sitting together on the street, with the rain on their shoulders, and their eyes on each-other, think about people who are not each-other.

                    But, they smile anyway.

_As we all tend to do._

 


	8. Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The car ride home after Arthur's job interview (see chapter 2)
> 
>  
> 
> Spoilers in the summary:
> 
>  
> 
> Bad news, robberies, twizzlers, the reason why Merlin wanted Arthur to look at him that morning, and a breaking point.

      **Q:** _If a heartrate is plummeting on the other end of a phone call, and you are inside a gas station and can’t hear it, does Merlin Emrys make a sound?_

           Now here is a question that people have been asking for centuries, none able to provide a definite answer for themselves, but asking it anyway. The answer could be a combination of two dramatically different things; _nothing is wrong._

                      **A:** Decide for yourself.

                                The fact was there had been a crash.

                        It fell in the form of a harsh ring, a voice, and an old man fast asleep.

         That day, it was raining, and much like Arthur’s opinion of Merlin’s blue eyes that morning, Merlin had been crying and no one was there to see it. It was solitary crying, not without reason, but also spontaneous in the fact that it came out of nowhere. Merlin hadn’t wanted to cry all day. He was busy. He was with Arthur, after all, waiting for job interviews to end, adjusting neckerchiefs, entertaining prats and bantering on in the CR-V. Merlin wondered briefly what trigger had been pulled to set him off like this. What revelation pulled the quark--had Gate Gasoline ever done him wrong? What had unleashed his sobbing fits, his twitching hands, his dumb luck that Arthur would be there any minute and he had to control his ducts or risk further questioning that Merlin didn’t want to answer.

                                 Did he have it in himself to answer?

                                               Earlier that day, Merlin had received the worst of calls.

___________________

 

                               _It's over now._

 

              _You need to make a decision, Mr. Emrys._  
             A decision?...What are you talking about? What decision?  
             _He’s suffering, I’m so sorry, but we need your consent.  
_ _What do you want to do._  
            Consent on what? I’m not letting you, I’m not letting   
            you _kill_ Gaius! It’ll be okay! He’ll be alright, he’ll be--  
            _Are you available to come down today? I understand  
_ _if you cannot. We’re not trying to give up on your uncle,  
_ _sir, we’re trying our best. There’s not much more we can  
_ _do except to_ _keep him comfortable._  
           No! Don't keep him comfortable, keep him **alive!**  
           You told me yesterday that he came out of the  
           surgery well! What are you talking about?  
            _Overnight, that has changed. The tumor has started to  
_ _grow back. We left a message earlier today that it  
_ _wasn’t looking too good anymore. Again. I’m sorry._  
           What can I do now?   
            _We’d have to take him in for testing first if you could  
_ _do anything else, but otherwise, we can’t find the root  
_ _problem of that tumor. It keeps growing back, Mr. Emrys.  
_ _You can’t afford the necessary_ _treatments, and_ _his insurance  
_ _doesn’t cover this. We let you slip through the cracks once concerning  
_ _a payment plan, we cannot let you do this again._  
           I can try my best! Do everything you can, I can try to have the  
           money, I can take out another loan or-

            _Think over this carefully, Mr. Emrys. It’s his time._

 

                  _Don’t make him suffer._

                        ** _I am sorry._**

 

_Goodbye, Mr. Emrys._

 

____________________

 

           There was a crash. It wasn’t a noise. The crash had no sound. It was raw and deathly. It smelled like oil and salt and black hair and broken things.  
    Things would always break in a crash. Even a soundless one.  
           Merlin’s face shriveled into a limp squeeze of wet eyes and gripping fingers on his forehead.

     Disbelief echoed on the sound of his throat gagging on muffled sobs and hiccup'd whispers.

                 "Composure," he sniffed and barked at the air, menacing. He had it with keeping things bottled up. All day, he was looking for Arthur to distract him. It was hard, when Arthur would barely look at him.

                 "Oh my god," His voice opened a hole into himself, the depth of his black pupils cutting back and into a world where blankness and empty gestures meant things. Real things. They were forever ideas, death becoming something finally tangible to Merlin. Merlin's squinted features and jagged jawline caught on to the idea of losing Gaius, like he had lost so many before. The flower pressed to his palm, the golden glow in Merlin's eye now reproducing that very same flower that was given to Gaius on their final meeting. Pain, it was reproduced as purple in his wet palm.

 

        The car tapped from the rain overhead. It strumed streams of clattering drizzles down his window and over him, noisily, as thunder drums beat out beyond the car doors. Hunched over in the passenger seat, Merlin was mortified.

 

              _How would he begin to tell his mum?_

        Merlin choked, dug his hands through his black hair, and pushed it in unorthodox directions, picturing her face across unfathomable distances. All the way back home in England. Over oceans, on dry land miles, through dirt road and old stone, she would be making the same face that her son was making. Hard, tough gulps and strong tears would bleed down her chin. Wrinkled brows.

 

       Merlin sputtered from hiccups, began coughing violently, and within minutes he caught himself. He began to remember the day he was having by Arthur's side when these thoughts were shoveled down neatly under his skin. Arthur's dumb looks from the driver's seat, the humming sound of two boys and a radio, and a job interview. Merlin looked at the little shack of a store out his window, attached to the gas station he was parked by.

 

       There was someone golden inside, eating twizzlers, picking out a periodical, and no doubt making a friend or two. Merlin stared, his eyes glazed over from hard decisions and a thousand years worth of responsibilities he could tell no one about. Not anymore.

 

                       Gaius's smile lerched up from the back of Merlin's memories.

Merlin smiled earnestly and began to cry again. A hooded figure crossed in front of Merlin's view outside.

 

        However hazey he had been, Merlin's eyes shot open wide, and his blood ran cold. His jaw unclenched. He grabbed at the window in disbelief.

                          A lazily hidden gun had emerged from the figure's pocket.

                                      Muffled screams.

                                                  Violent gestures.

 

       Merlin sunk down in his seat, swallowed hard, and closed his eyes, horrified. _Losing everything._ He fathomed losing Arthur.

 

                                                      No. _No more of this._

Merlin, hands grabbing at his ears, heart racing, and racing, and racing through possibilites, memories, threats, and dark ideas he doesn't entertain long enough, because he's screaming. Screaming as loud as his voice will take him. His thoughts are being carried off like dropped sailboats in winter tides and he is crying hysterically, shaking, and his voice is a beacon to those thoughts. **Steer clear,** it tells them. His screaming is pulsing in hatred, and stress and loss, and he is drowning in his own warning.... Moaning, Shrill screaming... Deafening sobs, stinging his throat, straining his vocal cords in its temperment. He is a listless cycle of AGHHHHH and OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

OH MY GOOOOOD OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

and he is fried, he is fed up. **He is utterly fed up.**

 

 _ **Snap!** _ The crash has lost its victim. Splintered, the crash is sawed in half, and Merlin emerged from it, badly wounded, but not a victim. He would never be a victim.

 

The car door slammed, **thunder,** and Merlin had entered the store.

  
                                     **Lightning.**


End file.
